Crimson Regret
by Chris Luca
Summary: Harry has a destiny: to vanquish the Dark Lord. But stuck in the past with a young and innocent Tom Riddle, is it really Voldemort he must face?
1. Prologue

If there was one thing Harry James Potter was not, it was a push-over.

He'd told Rufus Scrimgeour off.

He'd insulted Dolores Umbridge.

Been the bane of Severus Snape's existence.

Defeated and escaped the Dark Lord Voldemort several times.

And yet, here he was, finally casting the killing curse people expected from him. The one deed he had been born, raised and prophesied for.

Dumbledore had stressed often enough that if he didn't kill, the boy himself would find a premature death.

The Dursleys had taught him the hard way that if you didn't fight back, things only got worse, never better.

This was apparently his destiny.

Yet his voice lacked strength when he uttered those two terrible words. He lacked the true killing intent.

No matter that this was the most vicious Dark Lord in history he was facing. The murderer of his parents. The terror of Britain.

Harry was no killer.

It showed in the the green beam of light that his wand produced.

It wasn't the right colour; it wasn't the right size - it wasn't powerful enough.

At least not to end a life.

It could start one anew.


	2. Chapter 1

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the year 1941**

The school was mostly empty, out for the summer. Only a handful of staff remained. Among them a student by the name of Rubeus Hagrid. A half-giant. A boy. A curious one that wouldn't let a measly label like 'Forbidden' keep him out of the Forest. He was always looking to make new and 'innerestin' friends.

Such was the case this dark, moonless night. And interesting it would be..

The first sign something was amiss were the scorch marks on the trees. Hagrid didn't scare easily, but he'd never come across anything like this. There was a cold chill and he broke out in goosebumps. He whipped out his wand and proceeded on. Thanks to his giant-blood there wasn't much that could hurt him. Not to mention he was big and strong enough to fight any attacker off. It's why he felt safe, even in the Forbidden Forest. It's why he didn't immediately turn around, screaming bloody murder.

Green flames licked at the trees, spreading out from a perfect circle. It was definitely magical fire, with it's eery colour and strangely directed path. It hurt to touch too. It consumed it's surroundings, burning the lush forest to an ashy cinder. It had to be extremely hot, but only that chill radiated from the fire. It was almost enough to send Hagrid for help. But instead he battled his way through the flames, into the undisturbed middle.

Undisturbed by the fire, anyhow. Because the air was thick with the heavy feel of powerful magic.

And amidst the destruction, safe yet vulnerable, a young man laid bare.

Some of his modesty was covered by his thick long jet-black hair, that easily reached down his butt. But he was very much naked. His whole body was littered with scars - yet it was not that which took Hagrid's breath away and had him blushing like the teenager he was. Because the young man was beautiful. Smooth, glowing alabaster skin, long legs, a slim waist and a muscled chest. His dark hair fell in luscious waves around him.

He looked like an angel, fallen to earth, escaping from the raging flames of God's wrath.

Hagrid stumbled, fell to his knees and shrugged out of his huge coat. The short but lithe frame of the young man drowned underneath it, as Hagrid gently tugged the coat around him. It was lined with the softest fur and would keep him warm. The half-giant cradled the stranger to his chest and took off towards the castle. Dumbledore would know what to do.

* * *

Albus let his head rest in his hands, hiding his despairing eyes from the spying portraits. Why had he foolishly agreed to take the position as Headmaster of Hogwarts? He had no idea what to do! Nothing was going as it should! The castle wasn't safe, because it refused to hand over control over her wards to him. He wasn't sure he could protect the students from the Dark Lord - who just so happened to be his former lover Gellert Grindelwald. He felt in way over his head.

The Ministry was pressuring him, the staff was badgering him and it was only his second year as Headmaster!

He needed a break. Things surely couldn't get much worse than this?

"Albus! Come quickly!"

Just as fast as the medi-witch's head had appeared in the fire, she was gone again.

Sighing Dumbledore got up. He had the distinct feeling he had just jinxed himself. And that the portraits were silently laughing at him. He popped a lemondrop - heavily laced with calming potion - into his mouth and made his way to the hospital wing.

* * *

He woke to the feeling of hands touching him. Automatically he flinched and jerked away - only to find that his body wouldn't cooperate. His limbs felt heavy, his mind sluggish. Even though his eyes were closed, he could see stars. Painfully bright annoying little stars. He felt awful and so tired. As if his body had depleted all his reserves, magical and otherwise. He was powerless to stop the hands roaming his body. He was defenceless against the wand he could feel trained on him. He was exposed and vulnerable.

He panicked.

Instead of the destructive rush of his own magic, another force gently wrapped around him. He recognised the steady thrumming of this particular magic - Hogwarts. His school, his home, his haven. Yet she was different. Younger and less certain. She must have felt the connection between them, but she did not know him. Still, she drew him into her warm embrace, pouring herself and her magic into him. She was truly sentient, the Lady Hogwarts. And she was lonely.

Only to one of her line could she bond. Only to the worthy.

Figured he'd be one of them. Everything always happened to him, after all.

He blinked. _Where had that thought come from?_

It mattered not. His eyes were open now. Open and seeing. Worse yet, the witch with a wand pointed at him could see he was awake. She seemed impatient and determined. One of those no-nonsense, pushy people. He gave her a hesitant smile. She ignored it.

"I see you're awake. You're in the hospital wing of Hogwarts. The only thing wrong with you is exhaustion. Well, that and trespassing. The Headmaster will be here shortly. Don't try anything bloody stupid. It won't get you anywhere and I'll be the one patching you up again."

_Medi-witch - _the word popped into his mind. He was properly cowed, although more because of the woman he remembered than this one at his bedside.

"Who are you, boy? You're too old to be a student."

He looked at her blankly, his mind still hazy.

"What is your name?" she asked, somewhat more kindly, seeing actual confusion on his face.

"My name.." he murmured softly to himself. He knew his name. It was an important name. It was the name given to him by his parents. Yes, he remembered. He was born one Harry James Potter. He looked just like his father, strong masculine features and messy black hair. His eyes he got from his mother, emerald green. His height was a result of living with the Dursleys. The scars, those he'd gotten from... from Voldemort. Among others.

He knew who he was.

Despite the telltale lightening bolt shaped scar on his forehead, the medi-witch didn't know. Just like Hogwarts hadn't known.

There and then he decided. No more Harry Potter. No more Boy-Who-Lived, no more Saviour, no more Freak.

He needed a new name.

His mother had called him Harry - he wasn't giving up that one. But perhaps tweaking it a bit... That would do. He didn't want to deny the link to his father either. Or his godfathers. But how to... He laughed. The Marauders would be proud of his masterful deception.

"Harrison BlackMoon Hart," he introduced himself proudly.

"Delighted to meet you, m'boy!" Dumbledore exclaimed jovially as he burst into the room.

Harry paled.

Not because he was suddenly face-to-face with a man he'd watched fall to his death - though that wasn't particularly easy either. But because said man had brought the Sorting Hat with him. No matter the impressive strength of his Occlumency-walls, the hat would cut right through them and know the truth of a past that Harry, now Harrison, wanted to leave in the future.


	3. Chapter 2

"Well, well... What have we here?" the Sorting Hat exclaimed curiously, as it flitted through Harrison's memories.

_..._

_..._

_'...Not Harry!... Please, not Harry!...'_

_'Should have died with your good for nothing parents! Freak!'_

_'You could be great in Slytherin.. It's all here in your head.'_

_'Mars is bright tonight.'_

_'Enemies of the Heir beware!'_

_'...come live with me?'_

_'Did you put your name in, Harry?'_

_' Kill the spare!'_

_'...blood of the enemy, unwillingly taken...'_

_'I must not tell lies.'_

_'Merlin, she must wish she was kissing Cedric instead! I know I do!'_

_'Empty your mind!'_

_'Sirius._

_Sirius!_

_SIRIUS!'_

_'...for neither can live while the other survives...'_

_'I wondered what you knew about.. about Horcruxes.'_

_'Severus, please.'_

_'Avada Kedavra!'_

_..._

_..._

Harrison closed his eyes, harshly pushing all those painful memories back into their respective dark corners. He could wallow in self-misery later. Right now, he had a Hat to contend with. But said Hat managed to thoroughly surprise him.

"Better make you a DADA APPRENTICE!"

"You were supposed to tell us if he was trustworthy! Not assign a post to him!" the Headmaster sputtered in indignation. Harrison just blinked, mouth slightly agape. He couldn't remember the last time someone had been this... helpful, without wanting anything in return.

"Ah, but you, young mr. Hart, have already given me what I most desire."

Before Harrison could ask what that something could possibly be - like perhaps the wish to meet a time-traveler - Dumbledore had plucked the Sorting Hat from his head, glaring at the ratty old singing cloth. Then the Headmaster sighed.

"Very well. Welcome to Hogwarts, Apprentice Hart."

* * *

Just like that Harrison was allowed to keep his secrets. It was, if anything, very typical for the Dumbledore he'd known and loved. Even younger as the Headmaster was, Harrison should have expected him to be a barmy old coot with insane people skills. His hair and beard were already a silver grey and his twinkling eyes needed those eccentric half-moon glasses to see through. It was very strange to see him wear proper black robes though. Or to hear the portraits gossip about the crack-job he was doing. It seemed Dumbledore hadn't quite become the wizened wizard yet.

A lot of things were different, as Harrison soon discovered, while some things remained remarkably the same. There was a prissy Malfoy terrorising Gryffindor and Slytherin alike - though his hair was more of a light-brown with blond streaks than the silver-white Harrison had expected. This Abraxas Malfoy viciously entertained himself with their family feud against a bunch of black, brown, and the occasional red, headed Weasleys. Rich and snobbish Weasleys, whose pranks weren't innocent or harmless. Thomas Potter was an alright-kind-of guy, if you liked studious and nerdy mama-boys (like Percy, but without the abandoning of his family). The potions Professor had slick, greasy black hair, billowing robes and the ugliest face imaginable. Nothing new there, as it was just a younger version of Slughorn, still preening and collecting students. Then there were the things that hardly needed mention, like the four Houses, the giant squid, the corrupt Minister of Magic, the ongoing war against a Dark Lord...

Yep, just like home. Like he had never left.

There was just one tiny difference... hardly of importance really... going by the name of Tom Riddle. Perfect, handsome, charming and all-round good-doer Tom Riddle. Far-too-interested-in-the-DADA-Apprentice Tom Riddle. Not-yet-killed-any-muggles-or-muggleborns Tom Riddle. You know the one! Future Dark Lord Voldemort Tom Riddle. Yeah, HIM. He was really different. Harrison kinda really liked the difference.

* * *

With a deep, relieved sigh, Harrison closed the door behind the leaving class - his first of the year. The previous Defence Professor had met with an unfortunate accident the second day of the first trimester, while slithering too far into Slytherin-occupied territory. He hadn't been welcome in the dungeons anymore (he apparently missed the memo). And afterwards he resigned and left the castle with all haste. Not even Dumbledore could get him to tell what had happened. The Slytherins too had been dreadfully silent - like the grave, as they say - asking only when Professor Hart would resume lessons. Professor, not Apprentice. Those damn twinkling eyes had heartedly agreed that Professor Hart would start at his earliest convenience. Stupid old coot.

So, after a rather eventful trip to Gringots, it was now Professor Harrison BlackMoon Hart who taught Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Stupid scary eager goblins and bloody stupid hormonal Slytherins. He rubbed his eyes, feeling a headache coming on - and no, not designating from his bloody stupid famous lightning-bolt scar! That was carefully and masterfully hidden, thank you very much. It's not as though Harrison was the bloody stupid one here! Just the rest of this time-challenged world! And he was going to make them pay! He would change all their futures! Moehaha! ...erm... right. Harrison shook his head and blamed the lemondrop-withdrawal for his crazy thoughts. Damn Dumbledore wouldn't share the damn things!

...

...

So, where was I?

Stress can make one forgetful, you know.

Harrison knew stress. Also called undue pressure. Or unfair exhausting demands on an already tired person. Or being fate's favourite little bitch. Yes, Harrison knew all about it. It was not Tom Riddle who had set him off, though the Slytherin Heir was definitely high on his keep-watch-on-and-don't-anger-him list. Nope! It were those goblins! Those thrice-cursed, war-hardened, blood-thirsty goblins from Gringots (acting like bloody house-elfs):

**_FLASHBACK_**

"Greetings Griphook."

... So perhaps it hadn't been the smartest thing to call a goblin he'd supposedly never met by name, but he had just been so pleasantly surprised seeing a familiar face! Of course, that face was looking less and less familiar every minute. His Griphook had never allowed his mouth to drop open, his eyes to go round as saucers, his greenish face to pale to a greyish blue, or fainted, landing with a harsh THUNK on the hard ground. It was so out of character, that Harrison could only shake his head, step over the tiny figure in his path and pretend none of this ever happened, as he continued on his way into the bank.

Apparently he'd forgotten to sneer or something, because the junior goblins were staring at him in something akin to hero-worship. Harrison shuddered.

"Ah, Knucklefist..."

THUNK

"Ehm, Bloodcloth..."

THUNK

"Oh, thank Merlin! Bone-axe..."

THUNK

Harrison rubbed his rapidly growing headache away. This was turning into a nightmare. He left a long line of unconscious tellers in his wake, but ploughed on, ignoring all the curious and admiring glances thrown his way by goblin and wizard alike. He thought he was finally saved when another familiar face came storming his way:

"Greetings, Mightiest of Kings Ragnarok..."

THUNK

**_END FLASHBACK_**

****The Goblins had believed him to be the second coming of Merlin. Harrison was now legally the Head of the most Ancient and Hidden House of Hart, his vaults were well filled (with galleons, yes) and the Goblin Nation had pledged their loyalty to him. All cause he had known a few names! They really were as excitable as house-elfs...

THUNK

And yes, that last thunk was Harrison's head meeting with the door.


	4. Chapter 3

He came gliding into the Great Hall, like a graceful dancer. Though the students had learned not to fall silent anymore - he glared quite harshly when they did - they couldn't help their admiring glances. Luckily, those the Defence Professor ignored. Harrison was quite something to look at, after all.

He was tall, slim, muscular. He wore dark robes with silver stitching, the cloth falling widely around his body. A beautiful deep green scarf hid most of his neck from view and even his hands were covered in fingerless gloves. Not an inch of his skin was visible, except for his face. Some remembered the scars they had glimpsed on his formerly bare arms, but most were left wondering. Long dark tresses framed his pale face, his bright emerald eyes and red lips standing out. His soft dulcet voice was rarely heard, his words precise and to the point. He was kind to the students, a friendly smile on his handsome features - they were in awe of him. So much so that even Hufflepuffs (of all people) tried to trip him so he would accidentally land on their lips. Not that they succeeded. He moved too confidently, too effortlessly, to be caught in their schemes.

Still, Albus Dumbledore worried about the young man. Not because he'd made him a Professor, Hart managed wonderfully. No, he worried because Harrison had returned from Diagon Alley almost a changed man. After he'd awakened in the hospital wing, he'd been cheerful and intrigued by the castle and people around him. But now, he had withdrawn into himself, closed off. And Albus feared it had everything to do with the fact that Grindelwald had attacked the Alley right when Harrison had been there. Regardless of how the young man had arrived into the safety of Hogwarts, he had been harshly reminded that the war still raged on. Diagon Alley had reminded Harrison that, though he had escaped once, the Dark Lord was still out there, cursing and killing. It was the only explanation that Dumbledore could give for the change in his newest Professor.

Course, he was wrong...

All Harrison was doing, was ensuring his personal space, free from Hufflepuffs with a crush or Slytherins with a plan! After all, Grindelwald was the old coot's problem, like his' was Voldemort. He was determined to keep the two wars separate!

It seemed being wrong was contagious.

* * *

"Albus," the young Professor sighed, " I find it quite difficult to enjoy dinner when you're staring at me this intently. Did you perchance slip me something, of which I will notice the effects shortly? Will it loosen my tongue, spill my secrets, endanger my sanity..?"

"Good heavens no! Of course not, my dear boy. Now what kind of example would that set?"

"That determination and cunning gets you places and that we should all embrace our inner Slytherin?" Harrison tiredly suggested.

Albus giggled - yes, giggled. "You're being paranoid, m'boy. Sherbet Lemon?"

Now Harrison knew something was off about the Headmaster. He hadn't shared his sweets with him in long weeks. Had actually told Harrison to buy his own, because he was going through Albus' supply faster than even the Headmaster himself. They both had a sweet tooth a mile long. Sharing just wasn't practical. Apparently magic primarily ran on sugar. Go figure.

"No thanks, I'm good."

Like always when rejected Albus wasn't deterred at all and munched happily on the candy himself. His telltale twinkle was going at full blast too.

"The suspense is killing me," Harrison dead-panned.

"I'm just a bit worried about you. You look tired and distracted. I would like you to see Sissy." Aforementioned medi-witch immediately honed in on their conversation, her critical eye assessing the state of her charge. Harrison paled, hunched in on himself and hid behind the burly form of Professor Slughorn from those observant eyes. He threw a glare at the Headmaster, a glare which was promptly waved away and dutifully ignored.

He was in so much trouble.

Madam Elizabeth ('call me Sissy, dear' - which he plain refused to do) wasn't satisfied until she had waved her wand over him countless times, forced a myriad of potions down his throat, looked him over with her hands and sight - at least he was allowed to keep his briefs on, that woman was the devil, worse than Poppy Pomfrey any day of the week - and had given him the name of one of her colleagues who specialised in trauma-psychology. So he could share his woes with a complete stranger. Like that was gonna happen. And all this over just a few scars and some lousy nightmares. He'd been having those his entire life. He could deal with them just fine. So what if he had become immune to Dreamless Sleep Potion? He had become very proficient in the Silencing Spell.

It was close to midnight before he was finally released from her tender mercies. Albus would pay for his grand betrayal. Harrison was going to put his Marauder-heritage to good use. Not even Peeves had ever cackled as gleefully.

* * *

Breakfast was a silent affair. Or so it started out. The silence lasted for a whole four minutes, of which Harrison was extremely proud. It wasn't everyday that the Headmaster was dressed only in his beard, draped like a toga around him. At least he had to give Albus some credit. Like always whenever the wizard was ridiculously dressed, he was entirely unperturbed. He winked at his young Professor, reassured by the carefree look on that usually so closed-off face. Both thoroughly enjoyed the rambunctious laughter that spilled from the students and most of the teachers.

It died out far too soon. Namely with the delivery of the morning paper.

The front page of the Daily Prophet read:

**17th November 1941 - Dark Lord Strikes in Britain**

The black photo showed a giant inferno within a quiet and quaint little village. You almost couldn't distinguish the unmoving muggle corpses littering the streets, there where so many of them.


	5. Chapter 4

Young Tom Riddle was upset. That much his Defence Professor could tell. Upset enough that it disturbed the usual calm and haughty atmosphere in the Slytherin dungeons. Unfortunately, that the Defence Professor could tell as well. Because Tom's fellow Slytherins had trusted no other to get through to their unofficial leader than the teacher he was crushing on. Harrison had quite skilfully and cunningly been lured down to their Common Room. It had involved crying Ravenclaws, confused owls and an almost naked Slughorn. Harrison would have to keep a close eye on Tom to ensure nothing like this would ever happen again. He doubted his sanity would survive another Slytherin cry for help.

* * *

Tom was a very pretty boy - though he probably preferred handsome. He was rather brilliantly smart as well. He had most girls and some boys swooning, being a gorgeous genius. His only downer was, of course, his blood-status of a half-blood. But the selective Slytherin memory had chosen to forget that in favour of his true Slytherin heritage. It helped that he had a very sensual hiss of Parceltongue that he used to both seduce and intimidate his fellow peers and professors. Slughorn had been ecstatic, Dumbledore gave him his wary grandfatherly facade. All in all, life had been good for the Heir of Slytherin. Not even Grindelwald and his silly war had fazed him. And then the (magical) world turned on its axis.

HE arrived amidst a ball of green flame. The colour was too similar to the Killing Curse to be the botched up attempt of anything else but an AK. His magic had to have been strong, accidental and desperate to escape certain death. No-one had ever survived the Killing Curse before, after all. For a time after his unorthodox arrival, Hart had been childishly care-free - as if convinced he'd escaped more than just 'the next great adventure', to anyone not Dumbledore known as death. Until that day...

_**FLASHBACK**_

Today had turned out to be very annoying for Harrison. Even though he'd gotten what he needed, he wasn't all that thrilled about the goblins sudden servitude. He did have to worry about keeping the timeline as intact as possible, you know. And he wasn't doing so well.

At least there hadn't been a big, cheesy show-down with the current Dark Lord that shifted said Dark Lord's attention from his former lover to said former lover's new protege. In understandable English: he hadn't met and pissed off Gellert Grindelwald, yet.

There was an ominous silence following his mental declaration of 'yet'.

A silence that spread across the Alley, like a dangerous cloud descending.

In a movie, the viewers would probably thank the director for this little tension-filled moment. In reality, Harrison just cursed fate and her wickedly disturbed sense of humour.

"..Let's get this over with, yeah?" he mumbled to himself, feeling a powerful aura blink (or apparate) into existence not three feet from him.

**_END FLASHBACK_**

The ensuing fight had been covered with gruesome detail in the Daily Prophet, pictures and all.

**_Dark Lord Grindelwald Defeated!_**

_Dear Readers, have I got a story for you! Yesterday morning at exactly half past noon the Dark Lord and his browncoats apparated into an unprepared Diagon Alley, intend on causing havoc and mayhem. As you all know, Grindelwald has become more bold in his latest series of attacks, but never before had he hit a main target in the Wizarding World. Many believed he would not, as so far all his malice has been directed onto certain Muggle-groups (for more information, read: _Adolf Hitler's Endlosung, a summary _on page 8 through 13). But it seems he has abandoned such misdirections and declared war on his own people. Diagon Alley, as any other mainstream location, was completely unprepared and caught unawares. There were no Aurors stationed for our protection and they took a good 25 minutes to respond to the distressed calls. According to our esteemed Minister there were security issues inside the Ministry itself that required their attention. This writer can only wonder about the apparently lacking number of Aurors and fears about public protection when the war begins in earnest. Have we no Aurors to spare to protect the public, as is their mandate?_

_Regardless of this abysmal performance of the Ministries' forces, I bid you 'do not despair', my dear readers. For whatever his intentions were, Grindelwald did not succeed. Not much is known about the young man that threw an expelliarmus at the Dark Lord, successfully de-arming him, just as the browncoats started tormenting the defenceless shoppers. With just a few more stunners, he repelled the invading pack of beasts and had them running, apparating and portkeying for safety. Funnily, those coats that ran were later apprehended by the late-to-arrive Aurors. As for Grindelwald, he seemed surprised to see the young man opposing him. Pencieve-memories attest to the fact that he was heard mumbling "didn't I kill you already?"_

_The young man was not available for a comment on this, and neither was the Dark Lord._

_This brave young man had come from the direction of Gringotts. The goblins were none too eager to help us in discovering his name, but they did say this: "If this was a pre-meditated attack and our client declares war on the Grindelwald's browncoats, the entire Goblin Nation will follow him into battle". The Goblin Nation has been neutral in wizarding matters since as early as 120 BC. Never before have they publicly aligned themselves with a wizard, or anyone not of goblin descent. The last wizard they deigned to fully support, though it was unofficially and from the shadows, was the Great Lord Merydin le Fay, better known as simply Merlin. We here at the Daily prophet can only speculate and hope that this unknown young man is equally as honourable and powerful, to bring about better times as Merlin once did. __He certainly saved us from the Dark Lord Grindelwald, who didn't retreat just from having lost his wand. _

_What followed between the two was an impressive duel, without any rules, but with a lot of Muggle-styled fighting involved. Grindelwald fled when the Aurors arrived, managing to apparate, even though the Aurors first action should have been to prevent such. Grindelwald was reported to have had a broken nose, a superficial slash across his left eye, three bruised and one broken rib and a sprained wrist. The goblins assured me that their young friend was perfectly fine, though he too sported some bruises, most noticeably the finger-shaped ones around his neck. This writer wants to let her readers in on a little secret she uncovered, again with the use of a pencieve. Our mysterious young hero carried no wand! His first spell, the expelliarmus mentioned before, was cast wandlessly! Instead of using Grindelwald's wand after that, he instead snapped the famous 3 inch wand and tossed the two broken pieces into a bin! The goblins were reluctant in admitting that the young man suffered from magical exhaustion after that feat. And still he managed to beat the Dark Lord in a one-on-one fistfight!_

_I can only applaud our young hero and urge him to come forward! From you, my dear readers, I ask that you please notify this curious writer if you have any information on his identity. He deserves recognition for his brave act, which undoubtedly saved many lives. _

_From the Daily Prophet and the shoppers in Diagon Alley, we thank you greatly._

_*For the Ministries' reaction to our unidentified young man/hero, go to page 7._

Even with the bruise-salve and the higher closing robes, the Slytherins had easily found the finger-shaped bruises on Professor Hart's neck. Just as they understood why he became a lot more defensive: who wouldn't be when your would-be-murderer was clued into the fact that you weren't quite dead.

* * *

Tom had felt a very strong connection sizzle into life the very moment he first laid eyes on the then Apprentice Hart. If he had believed in love or that romance-induced-folly called soul-mates, perhaps he would have attributed his feeling to such. But he didn't. He didn't feel. Especially not such a despicable emotion as love. So he settled on calling his new found feeling 'interest bordering on obsession'. He did know himself quite well, after all, and wasn't one to purposely delude himself. He was obsessing about a male that his magic had chosen to connect with.

He would have scoffed at the truth, seeing as Harrison was his soulmate, curtesy of a certain Horcrux having fused with the Boy-Who-Lived's soul.

Of course, he was correct in assuming love had nothing to do with it. At first.

He was just curious, at first. So he had proceeded to con the man into the occupation of Defence Professor. Easier access, when they were forced to interact more. He didn't learn much. Hart was as secretive as they came.

Then the dreams began. Hazy, blurred dreams of Harrison's agonised screams under torture.

Tom noticed that they had equal heavy bags under their eyes at diner.

He concluded he was sharing the Professor's dreams. As a consequence, he theorized that their connection had to be more intense than he had first thought. A lot of research - down in the library of the Chamber of Secrets, obviously - some spells and a potion further and he held a piece of parchment proclaiming his soul-mate status. To Harrison BlackMoon Hart.

That's when he started believing in love again. And despaired.


	6. Chapter 5

**-Omake-**

(By-the-way, this one is for you VerboseVolition! Hope you enjoy!)

_Dark Lord steals Replacement Wand_

_Hello dear readers and welcome back to my little corner of the world. I found the most fascinating bit of curiosa for my loyal fans! After the loss of his previous wand, the Dark Lord Grindelwald has acquired a new one! Not a respectable wand from Ollivander, or even a shady one from Knockturn Ally. No, he went on no quests and killed no beasties to get his very own custom made wand… he stole his replacement._

_Like a common thief, he broke into the house of collector Robert Angle and fled with a very old and antique wand into the night. Unfortunately, age has been very kind to this particular wand, which is rumoured to be very strong. With it in his possession Grindelwald now believes himself to be the most powerful wizard alive. He took time out of his precious schedule to specifically taunt one Albus Dumbledore with the news of his acquisition. Our young Headmaster was not available for comment on the importance of that specific wand, but he seemed very shocked to see it in his one-time-friend's hand._

_As you all know, Grindelwald's last wand was quite famous as well. It was a meagre 3 inches long and, due to a complicated sticking charm, acted much like a sixth finger for the Dark Lord. Regardless of it's length, it was powerful. Fastened not from wood, but a dragon's wishbone and imbued with a special concoction of which the recipe has been in the Grindelwald Family for centuries - and is unknown to any and all outsiders. That little wand worked for none other than his master, but in those destructive hands has laid waste to wizarding villages and muggle armies. Grindelwald wasted no time finding his replacement, but there have been reports of brownouts attempting to locate the two pieces of his former broken wand. It is believed that one could analyse the secret family recipe from the interior of the wand, if only either of it's pieces could be found._

_As such, the Ministry, on behalf of the Unspeakables, has offered a reward of 200.000 galleons for whoever can supply them with one or both halves of this wand. Another 500 galleons is set aside for whoever can shed some light on the significance of the Elder Wand the Dark Lord now possesses._

_Further news will be revealed as I find it, my dear readers._

**-End Omake-**

**

* * *

**

Harrison gracefully slid through the portal into the Slytherin Commons, like he had been doing it for years. Though in truth, this was only his second trip here and the first wouldn't happen for many years yet. And he wasn't poly-juiced either. The Slytherins actually wanted him here. Although, perhaps not the one Slytherin he had really come for. He doubted Tom actually liked all the Professors he took the time and effort to charm. And Harrison was just another Professor to him, right? Plus, it was not as if the boy had asked for the Professor's presence. If anything, this was more kinda like an intervention… slytherin-style.

Instead of gathering around everyone that even remotely cared about the Prefect, Slytherins were abandoning the Common Room in flocks. Leaving only one very bewildered Professor behind to deal with the not-yet-murderer of his parents. Fate seemed to enjoy arranging moments like this to remind her favourite toy that she was still here, still messing with him… And now a certain Tom Riddle as well.

The boy sat in a plushy - green and silver - chair, sinking deep into the comfortable surface. His hair was hanging in front of his face, not stylishly slicked back. Normally smooth lips were harshly gnawed on. The elegant and composed Prefect was no where in sight, instead knees were drawn up to his chest and hands were wringing in anguish. He didn't greet the Professor or acknowledge the frighteningly fast and efficient exodus of the other students. Nothing seemed to exist to him, but the spot of dirt on the floor that his eyes were fastened on.

Tom was still mulling over another dreadful dream shared with his soulmate. It had started out painful enough, not for Harrison but for Tom. Harrison had been driven up against a wall, his long hair tightly gripped in a dainty hand and his mouth completely plundered. The girl had long vibrant red hair, soft brown eyes and a very pretty face. She certainly could kiss too. His soulmate - his, damn it! - had moaned in abject pleasure and pulled the girl closer. There was gold glinting of her hand. An engagement-ring. Then that same hand lying pale and lifeless on a bloody floor. Her face permanently captured in shock and rage. Red specks marring her beautiful white wedding-gown. And Harrison on the ground next to her, writhing under a crucio, tears dripping down the eyes that were fixed only on her.

Those eyes were locked on him now.

Still, Tom couldn't help feeling betrayed.

Not by Harrison, never Harrison. But by life itself.

That was not a new feeling at all. He had felt that way being bullied in the orphanage, then when he'd had to return there every summer but now without the means to defend himself. When he'd learned his father was still alive, but refused to take responsibility for him. When he'd found out that his mother was little more than a glorified squib. To meet with the illustrious descendants of Slytherin, only to find them inbred pathetic creatures that couldn't ever master the common tongue and let themselves be understood. Filthy and weak squibs and muggles, that was what his family consisted of.

He'd show them all. He would become the most powerful wizard alive. Not even Dumbledore would stand in his way. He'd been doing so well! Having a soulmate was an added blessing that would bring him even more power! Except the only way to truly complete the bond between them was through love. It was a power he knew not.

"Tom? Please look at me? What's wrong?" The professor sat on the arm of his chair and gently carded a hand through Tom's listless hair. He grasped his chin and tilted his head to look into troubled brown eyes. "Tell me!" Harrison pleaded.

"I'm unlovable", was all Harrison got out of Tom, before the boy clamped down and refused further conversation or eye-contact, pulling his head free and shaking his hair back in front of his eyes.

It left the Professor in a bit of a conundrum.

Because Voldemort certainly was unlovable - as long as your name wasn't Bellatrix.

But Tom wasn't Voldemort, not yet.

But he was supposed to become Voldemort…

The original timeline was not to be disturbed, Hermione had been adamant about that during their stint with the time-turner. What to do..?

Harrison was getting a headache, similar to when he was trying to extract information from an evasive Dumbledore. He rubbed his temples in agitation, only succeeding in sending the wrong message to his 'soul-mate'.

Tom actually felt tears gathering and blinked furiously. To no avail. A single tear slid down the side of his face, crossing his cheek and almost falling from his jaw... A warm finger stopped it's path and lifted the clear liquid way from him. Harrison studied the tear, proof of Tom's humanity. Then he sighed. He roughly grabbed his student by the robes and forced him into an embrace. "If that is truly what you belief, then I can only say this: It is not too late yet to change."

Tom didn't suddenly start crying and Harrison didn't expect him to. He didn't keep him in his arms and they didn't have a deep, meaningful, heartfelt conversation. Tom still steadily refused to look at him. But when Harrison stood, gathering his robes and his wits about him and, feeling almost embarrassed, quickly returned to his chambers, he caught the low hissing sound coming from Tom's mouth. The boy didn't know he was a Parcelmouth too. Otherwise, he would have never let the sentiment escape him. Because he'd hissed:

"Thank you."

Harrison left with a smile on his face.


	7. Chapter 6

"Today we will be discussing the three spells known as the Unforgivables." Cowed by his stern countenance, the class was silent and attentive. Harrison nodded at the serious atmosphere, pleased that the students - who were only a few years younger than he - seemed to understand the serious nature of this particular lesson.

"These three spells, though not the most devastating dark curses in existence, are the ones punished most heavily. Once cast, regardless of circumstance, they earn their caster a one-way-trip to Azkaban."

He ignored the shivers the mention of the wizarding prison caused. That was after all the reason he'd made sure to explain exactly what Dementors were and did just last class. He hadn't started them on the Patronus yet, just to make it extra certain that the students knew they would not be able to escape the consequences if they were stupid enough to abuse their new knowledge of the Unforgivables he was giving them.

"There is only one exception to this rule. Special permission can be asked from the Ministry to cast them, but only for teaching or healing purposes. Like today."

The following silence was incredibly heavy, as the students realized their Professor actually would be casting the curses today. They fidgeted in their seats, praying that at least the spells wouldn't be cast on them. Harrison smirked, sending moods plummeting.

"Don't worry your little heads over it too much. I had to get the Headmaster's permission as well."

The class sighed in relief. Dumbledore had a lot more scruples and compassion than the Minister. Bartolomeus Crouch would probably have cheered Hart on as he cast crucio's on the children, just so they knew what to expect if they choose to join Grindelwald. The Dark Lord was known for not having the best of patience when it came to his own followers and he gave harsh punishments.

"He insisted we use a transfigured animal for the demonstration."

A few of the Slytherin students eagerly transfigured their notes into a rat, a spider and a kitten, respectively. Harrison blinked and then choose to ignore them, along with the glares the Gryffindors were shooting at them.

"However, the Minister insisted I at least cast the most harmless one on you all. Considering the Headmaster was quite against this… well, we compromised. It is voluntary. I support this, because this spell can - with strong enough willpower and enough experience - be broken. I believe it is better you are subjected to it under these safe circumstances than in a dangerous situation, when your very life or those of your loved ones depend on your ability to shake the curse off. In fact, I will be available for further practice for those who want it in the coming months. But the choice is yours."

To his disappointment the Gryffindors looked more terrified than interested, while the Slytherins looked thoughtful, as he had expected.

"Now however, we first have to get the theoretical part out of the way. I have been avoiding saying the names of these curses. Would anyone like to take a guess as to what they are?"

* * *

_"Crucio," Grindelwald intoned with a bored tone of voice, flicking a silent silencio at the screaming victim after, not wanting to be distracted by the noise._

_"You're pathetic." He calmly informed the wizard at his mercy (of which he had none). He doubted the man could hear anything over the agonizing pain he experienced, but the words needed to be said regardless. _

_"I gave you one measly task and you failed me! Not only that, but you were run out of the castle! By teenagers! You lost the position I specifically arranged for you! Albus is dallying around unchecked - because of you!" _

_Really, the caliber of dark wizards these days was pitiful._

* * *

"Correct, Mr. Nott. The Cruciatus is a pain curse that lights up all the nerves in the victim's body, causing agonizing pain and uncontrollable spasms. If held under a crucio for too long a wizard could become insane or comatose. I will give Slytherin 5 points for your answer, but be aware… had this lesson been conducted per the Minister's orders I would have held _you_ under the curse for 15 seconds and you would have received no points. To know what these curses are, what they do, how they're cast - any prior knowledge of this information is frowned upon by the current Ministry. Instead, I will now place a crucio on the transfigured rat. Observe… and remember, it could have been one of you to experience this."

The rat's squeals were high and desperate and not a single student managed to watch the display in anything other than absolute horror. Unfortunately, Harrison noticed some watching it with even more horrifying familiarity. The first hint of terrifying rage blossomed in his chest. He really didn't like Dark Lords.

"Alright, alright," Harrison tried to quickly calm his class – the lesson wasn't anywhere near over yet, unfortunately. He allowed the rat to return to its previous state, ending its suffering. Paper couldn't feel its muscles spasm, its nerve-ends sparking with unrelenting pain. He shivered briefly, remembering his own sessions under that dreadful curse, but put it from his mind…

Some of his more observant students did not.

"Would anyone like to take a guess as to the next Unforgiveable?"

Remembering what he had threatened to do last time anyone volunteered, every Slytherin ensured not to raise their hand. The Gryffindors were made of sturdier stuff… or had a shorter memory span, Harrison couldn't decide.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley. _Imperio_. Answer the question."

"The Imperius curse is an Unforgiveable that takes away a person free will, as well as control over their body. They are forced to follow whatever mental commands the caster gives them."

"Very good Mr. Weasley. 5 Points to Gryffindor. I have now released you from the spell. Can you describe to your fellow students what it felt like to be under it?"

The Weasley still had a dazed look in his eyes, though they were no longer clouded, a dopey expression on his freckled face. He shook his head, trying to clear it, looking at the Professor with a bit of fear as well as longing.

"It felt… like being submerged in a warm bath… like being kissed by a pretty girl… like nothing was wrong in the world… and the feeling got stronger when I did what was asked of me." He shook his head again, tears brimming in hooded eyes. "It was peace and quiet and it hurt – like a punch to the gut – when you released me. Like waking up from a really good dream and knowing you were back in the real world where nothing would ever be as perfect as that."

"Thank you Mr. Weasley," Harrison said softly.

"How could anyone resist that?" the boy whined.

The Professor rubbed a hand over his heart, a pensive look on his handsome features. He seemed to hesitate in giving an answer – he didn't want to burden these young ones with his pessimistic worldview. "When this curse is cast on me, I know, down to my very bones, that that wonderful feeling is fake. The world is never as accommodating as that. And I suppose I am not as inclined to believe that obeying what demands are made will lead to good things as others are.

"Imagine coming out of that perfect heavenly feeling, already shocked and hurting because the spell was lifted, to find your loved ones bleeding and dying at your feet, flinching away from you as you attempt to help them… No, after something like that, you will never trust, just because you feel happy. You will question the orders given, you will fight to regain control of your actions and if you're strong enough, you will succeed."

* * *

_"Please Master! Please… I did cast an imperio at him, but he just shrugged it off like it was nothing! I tried, I swear! Dumbledore was watching too closely to arrange an accident and… and… I didn't mean to loose the DADA post!" the former Professor wailed, twitching with the after effects of the Cruciatus, reduced to a sniffling incompetent mess._

_Grindelwald just scoffed._

* * *

Harrison visibly retook himself, pasting on a cheerful smile, clapped his hands together and asked: "How about the final curse? Anyone want to tell me what it is?"

The class paled and Harrison snickered. "No volunteers, huh? Very well, the last Unforgivable is known as the Killing Curse. No one knows exactly how it kills, but once this spell hits you, you die. It can not be stopped, it can not be blocked. No one has ever survived the Avada Kedavra."

Harrison's emerald eyes were grim and he unconsciously smoothed his hair over his forehead.

* * *

_He saw the green light come at him. His body refused to move, too shaky from all the crucio's he had been subjected to. He couldn't dodge. He didn't even have time to curse his murderer, his Master._

_It hit him, full in the chest._

_His breath left him, his body sagging lifeless to the ground, his dead eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling…_

_A malicious cackle followed him into the afterlife._

* * *

"Class Dismissed."


End file.
